As Sheldon and his mom disappeared down the stairs, I looked over to see Tristan on a futon in the corner with Hannah on her lap. The little girl was crying with her top hat askew on her head and arms swallowed up in a shawl that would have made Stevie Nicks jealous.
I didn’t know if I should walk away or stay. But the pain radiating from them both had me freezing to my spot. It was more palpable than Sheldon’s had been downstairs. I had the strangest urge to wrap them both in my arms and hug them until the grief and tears went away.
Tristan’s eyes met mine. “She heard Sheldon in the practice room and thought…”
She thought her great-grandmother was back teaching lessons. I grimaced.
“I…I…just want to play again,” Hannah sobbed.
I tilted my head, eyebrows creasing together, surprise registering in my voice. “Does she play guitar?”
Tristan shook her head. “Piano.”
I eased toward them, sinking onto the floor so my face was practically in Hannah’s. “Piano, huh? That’s what I started on. But I was quite a bit older than you.”
“Y-you did?” she asked.
I nodded. “Yep. I use my guitar most often these days because it’s easy to take with me, but the piano will always be my first love.”
“What’s your favorite song?”
“That is quite the question. If I’m playing classical music, I definitely like Claude Debussy’s ‘La Cathédral Engloutie,’ and if I’m playing contemporary music, ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ by Queen is up there.”
“Grams was only teaching me classic rock songs. That’s all I ever want to play,” Hannah said with tears in her eyes.
I tried not to laugh as the little girl obviously took her music very seriously.
“Would you like to play one for me?” I asked.
Tristan’s breath caught in a shallow gasp, and I felt like an ass again, as if I’d intruded and broken some unwritten rule, but Hannah’s eyes turned wide, and a smile lit up her face.
“Can I?” she asked as she turned back to her mom.
“Are you sure you want to,Chiquita?”
She nodded, pushed off her mom, straightened her hat, grabbed my hand, and pulled me toward the practice room with a piano in it older than I was. The one I’d learned on myself. Old and scratched with keys so worn it was as if they were melting away.
She pulled a folder from one of the cubbies where Elana’s students had always kept their music and laid out the sheets on the piano. She sat down and patted the bench next to her. I looked at Tristan for approval before making my way to her.
“I can’t reach the pedals, so Grams said I shouldn’t worry about it yet.”
I nodded at this sage advice.
Then, she started into “Let It Be” by The Beatles. Not only did she play, but she also started singing with a strength and confidence that startled me so much I had to put a hand to my chest to make sure my heart was actually still working. Her sweet voice turned the song into something different than its original intention. Something haunting in a brand-new way. She made mistakes on the keys and in her pitch, but it was done smoothly and with a flourish that only Elana could have taught her.
My eyes filled, and when I looked up at Tristan in the doorway, tears were rolling down her cheeks unchecked.A beautiful song. Two beautiful females. One unforgettable loss. But I could feel Elana in every inch of the room as if she were with us. The missing person. She was there in the keys and the wood and the walls. She was in the skin and the fingers of the little girl playing the classic rock song. She was in the eyes and the face of the woman watching her daughter’s fingers move.
When Hannah reached the end, she looked up at me, a huge smile breaking over her little face.
“I messed up, huh?”
I nodded. “You did. Do you know where?”
She pointed to the sheet music at the exact place she’d first made a mistake.
“What would Elana have you do if you messed up?” I already knew the answer, but I wasn’t sure if she’d changed her teaching style for her great-granddaughter.
“She’d make me play that part twenty-five times.”
